


Retrouvailles

by queerwatson



Series: The Lexical Gaps of the English Language [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwatson/pseuds/queerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes his return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retrouvailles

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is so late! It's not midnight just yet where I am, but... Well, this one was harder to write than I thought it would be, and I sort of fell asleep earlier. Oops. And there's still a little residual angst - ugh, these two just have so many feelings.

Sadly, Mary is not one of the exceptions to the prediction of how much time she has left. He’s by her side when she does pass, and though she’s clearly very sick, the whole thing is rather peaceful. He doesn’t collapse or feel so overwhelmed as he did when Sherlock died - but he cries for days. Mary got a plot in the same graveyard as Sherlock as well, so he visits them both everyday. He starts to get back into the habit of loneliness, much like his first year without Sherlock. It hurts, still aches sometimes, and the loss of Sherlock stings a little more without Mary around to take the edge off, but he’s surviving - and he doesn’t at all consider jumping off of Bart’s this time around. He nearly feels bad just for how much easier it is this time, but after Sherlock’s loss, and the feeling of having some part of him ripped out, the death of someone he loves but gets to say good bye to and gets to have closure with is not as sad as it could have been. It doesn’t shatter him.

It’s something else entirely that shatters him.

He’s using his cane that day, because his leg’s acting up, and in his other hand he has bags full of shopping. He opens the door, turns on the light, and heads to the kitchen. Something feels... different. He ignores the odd feeling once he checks the back of his pants for his gun and puts away all of the shopping before he goes back into the sitting room, and -

“Hello, John.”

He stops, stares. A man that is presumably Sherlock Holmes is sitting in Sherlock’s chair. He looks almost exactly the same. John gives him a once-over, and it all sort of hits him. “Christ.”

His vision goes fuzzy, and his legs give out, and when he’s aware of his surroundings again, there’s something under his head as a pillow, and Sherlock is hovering over him, his eyes more filled with concern than John has ever seen them.

“I should have known better than to be so dramatic about it. I apologize.”

John just furrows his brow, reaching up to put a hand on Sherlock’s face, because he has to touch him - has to make sure he’s really there, how can he be there? “I thought you were dead.” He didn’t mean for the words to slip out - he knows Sherlock’s likely to find them tedious and obvious, but he can’t help it.

Sherlock’s expression softens a little. “Yes, I know. I’m so sorry, John.” Well that’s different - not that Sherlock doesn’t owe him one hell of an apology - he just never thought he’d get one.

He tries to sit up, but Sherlock puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him where he is.

“...Why?”

“It was the only way to keep you safe.”

He narrows his gaze. “You know how much I don’t care about-”

“John.” He moves his hand to John’s cheek then, and really, what the hell is happening? This is too much for one night - hell, this would be too much for a week. “Moriarty had snipers trained on you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. This plan was the only option I had left.”

He bats Sherlock’s hands away, finally sitting up. “Thank you, then. But...” He looks, really looks. There are obvious signs of exhaustion on Sherlock’s face - and that rarely happens. He’s lost weight, and to be honest, though he still looks gorgeous, he looks awful at the same time. “God, I missed you. Idiot.” He throws his arms around Sherlock’s waist and clings, clutching at his back. He takes in the scent that has long since faded from the flat - even from Sherlock’s bed and the clothes he left behind.

It takes only a moment for Sherlock to return the embrace, and John suddenly surrounded by the man he thought he’s never see again, and how is any of this happening? Is he dead? Is he dreaming after all? Without even realizing it, he starts murmuring, “Be real, God, please be real,” over and over again against Sherlock’s neck, and he can feel the tears start to come.

“I am, John. I am real, I promise.”

He loses track of time again, while they sit there, just holding one another. He doesn’t know where they stand at the moment, but even through his tears and his doubt and his worries, there’s a part of him that feels as though he hasn’t been this happy in ages.

“Why couldn’t you have told me you were going to live?”

Sherlock picks up his head, but keeps his hold on John. “...I wasn’t certain that I would. There was a slight chance I might actually die -”

“But you didn’t. And you couldn’t tell me?”

John picks his head up as well, and watches him hesitate. “You were being watched for some time. When it was safer for me to come back... I... Well, now I have.”

Tilting his head, John knows part of that sentence was missing. “What are you not telling me, Sherlock?”

He avoids John’s eyes again. “Perhaps I put off my return for a bit.”

“What the - why would you have done that?”

Looking as though he’s the one who needs comfort now, Sherlock burrows his head in John’s chest and holds him even more tightly. “It seemed as though you were alright without me. I had some more things I could do without your assistance.”

He sighs, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “I’m missing something here, other than the fact that you were keeping an eye on me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

...That’s it. He pulls Sherlock tighter against him and sighs. “Yes, so am I. But Mary would have loved you. She used to talk you at your grave, you know. Thank you for taking care of me.” He pauses. He doesn’t have the energy to hide anything right now. “She even figured it out, you know. How much I loved you. She used to tell you, or you know, your apparently empty grave, that she hoped you knew.”

He can actually feel Sherlock stop breathing, which is... well, it’s probably not a good thing. He pulls his face up so they can make eye contact, and is surprised to find tears in Sherlock’s eyes. He wipes them away as best he can and smiles a little.

“John...”

“You don’t have to say it back, I get it, really.”

“No, John. No, I... I do care for - I... I love you, too.”

“Did you practice that?” Sherlock turns red, and he grins. “Of course you did. God, I love you. Come on, we should get off the floor.” He moves to stand, but Sherlock gets up before he does, and offers him a hand. “In fact, I really ought to go to sleep. This feels like it’s been the longest day of my life - in the best way possible of course.”

Sherlock replies quietly. “Retrouvailles.”

“What’s this one mean, then? It’s French, I can tell.”

He watches a smile light up Sherlock’s face. “It refers to the happiness of seeing someone again after a long time apart.”

“Well, there’s not been a word more fitting.” He stops what he’s doing. “I... Um. I’ve been sleeping in your bed. There’s not as many stairs, and... Well, sentiment and all.”

“I... can sleep in your bed. If you would-”

“No!” His eyes widen at how loud his reply was. “I mean - you don’t have to. It’s your bed. It would. Um. It would be nicer if it smelled like you again.”

He’s just saying whatever he thinks now. He really does need sleep.

“Oh.” Sherlock looks at him, and before John even realizes what’s happening, he’s been kissed on the cheek. “That sounds excellent, John,” is being whispered right in his ear and that... That is really all he can handle for one day.

“Alright then, time for bed, come on.”

With both of them working to help keep the other standing and moving, they make it to Sherlock’s room. They both change in the bathroom separately, and John works quickly, talking through the door the whole time, so he can make certain that Sherlock won’t just disappear again.

They fall asleep that night, completely wrapped around each other. Sherlock is just as possessive a cuddler as John could have imagined, and he just lets himself think that if he holds on tight enough that if he wakes up in the morning, Sherlock will still be there.


End file.
